a week in may

A snapshot of my week after 15 months in Ho.

Sunday: VOLPHIG’s AGM

Michael has a stomach bug and spends all day in bed – it turns out to be a 24 hour bug similar to something I had a few months ago. So I attend AGM on my own. An important one as the name and constitution of the organisation is changed and it got unanimous support from the members. VOLPHIG is now no more and will be called Voice of People with Disabilities in Ghana, “Voice” in short.

Monday: A day trip to Accra:

I travel early in the morning to Accra to see the VSO doctor there for a regular check-up as well as attend a meeting to discuss another Volunteer’s research on Attitudes towards people with disabilities in Ghana. Both Michael and I had supported her in finalising her findings and recommendations.

It turned out to be a 6.5 hour journey for meetings lasting 2 hours!

On the way back I sat next to a Ghanian, Charlotte, who it turned out is from Kent! Well we talked non-stop all the way back and I am sure the rest of the tro tro had to put up with our discussions - we solved all the world's problems!!. Charlotte visits her sister in Ho for a few days every time she comes to Ghana. I really enjoyed her company.

Tuesday: Plan Disability Rights Fund Workshop for Voice

This time we are working on cross-disability Self-Help Groups at the workshops. I worked with Francis on what he needs to do to ensure we have a participatory workshop. He selects what tools to use – a first for him. WE will be going to Nkwanta and Brewaniase to hold the workshops next week from Monday to Friday. We had planned the dates for these workshops last year and as a result I had planned workshops over Easter!! and this time on a national holiday on Monday.
Charlotte comes to visit with her sister Ruth. Unfortunately we have power failure while they visit due to a storm. It was good to meet Ruth and we promise to keep in touch.

Wednesday: Continue planning workshop and develop a shortlisting procedure for a new post of ABILIS Programme Facilitator. Voice is partnering ABILIS in Ghana. This time round Voice advertised a new post in a national paper and I had supported Francis in developing an application form (with help from some of my friends in UK who sent me thier forms). Now he was learning how the applicants can be shortlisted. In the past they accepted letters of applications and there was no proper process set out for shortlisting. Another first for Francis and he really enjoyed the process.

Thursday: Attend a “Global Giving” information giving session

Time well spent? In theory the idea is great that we can get people across the glob to donate to Voice’s projects. The drawback is that Voice has to get $3,000.00 in 3 weeks before it gets a place on the website. Worse still, they take 12.5% of the donations for their administrative costs. Which I can understand but a high price to pay! I started this debate about why Ghanains should look to the west for donations when there are so many rich Ghanians. The conclusion, the rich Ghanains do not want to donate to their fellow country-folk as they do not trust that the money would be used properly!?!

Met a potential “friend” for Voice and it is great that she is Ghanian. She said that she has been discussing this “tapping local resources” issue at a national level. Maybe something will come from it.

Friday: Actual shortlisting

Francis surprised that we were able to shortlist 8 applicants out of the 28 applications received. He had worked on what he felt was essential for the job and we had shortlisted accordingly.
Final preparations for our trip to North Volta (Nkwanta and Brewaniase) from Monday to Friday next week.

So you can see a varied week and meeting interesting people.

Teaching Grace to make Samosas

Who would have thought I would be teaching a Voltarian to make samosas?

I met Grace awhile back when I found out that she makes the brown bread that we buy in Ho. The bread most sold here is very white and bulky and to the people’s taste here and it is rare to find brown bread. So finding her was wonderful. My purpose was to ask her where she bought her brown wheat flour from as that seems to be like gold dust in Ghana. I asked if I could buy some wheat flour and she wanted to know what it was for so I said for rotli. She said she would like to try some so I made some with a bean curry. I found out that this was for her husband’s benefit as he was placed, while in the army, in India and Pakistan and loves food from that part of the world. This is not something you hear from many Ghanains as I have said before.

Grace was frank – she did not like the rotli but she enjoyed the beans as it is similar to what Ghanains make with beans. However, she said she would like to learn how to make them and so last weekend she came home with her daughter. Surprise, surprise she also wanted to learn how to make samosas and she had brought ingredients for it – of course I would not use the mince meat she had brought, so replaced it with soya. That is something else most people here cannot understand. If you have money why would you not eat meat? Whenever we have been to small communities the caterers have always managed to make us great Ghanain vegetarian food but after a lot of explanations about why we are vegetarians.

Yesterday, Grace told me that the samosas and rotli was their dinner that day – which really surprised me but I guess it is a matter of exposure to different cuisine and willingness to try something different. Grace said she was practicing making samosas so that she can get good at it.

I really enjoyed teaching them both. I should really ask to be shown how to make fufu and banku but doubt I will have the strength to make either as both need a lot of elbow grease.

Accra again...

Going through one of those phases when I seem to be backwards and forwards to Accra a lot. This means I get to sit on tro tros and buses a lot, watch telly in the hotel and have a lot of time to chew the fat. One thing though for sure, I don’t get to like Accra any better the more I visit and am always glad to be on my way back to sleepy Ho.

Was watching the news on Ghana TV the other morning – weird! The main story concerned a chieftaincy dispute in one area of the city (having a system of traditional chiefs here means that these disputes break out quite often and in some areas lead to mini wars). The head of police was in the TV studio and he explained the situation which by now involved thirty armed police and an armoured car. The “assailants” (read youth) were smashing kids bikes and drums, had left a water tap (of treated water no less) running, had poured sand in a pot of cooked cassava, and - here’s the really heavy stuff – had broken the rear wing mirror of a police vehicle. On the screen, shots of riot police interspersed with broken bikes and spoilt cassava – god help us what the response will be when the real action kicks in. On the same programme a discussion about water shortages in the capital ended with the government official, when asked what the solutions are, declaring that we must pray to God to resolve the problems. Likewise the sports feature entreated us to rally round and pray for the Black Stars (the national football team) in their forthcoming world cup qualifier against the Benin Squirrels, (they duly went on to win a very dull game 1-0). Funny country, with God on their side!

The weather now is at its most unbearable – hot, humid, sweaty – you could change your clothes several times of day and still feel like you have just come out of the sauna. This makes travel in the capital absolute agony – crammed in to ancient transits and mini buses – not an inch to spare and stuck in the endless traffic jams that plague this city. People remain remarkably calm on the whole despite all this (and of course the occasional frenzied smashing of children’s bicycles). It seems to be that people do not like to complain and I often feel that perhaps things would improve if people were a little more demanding, especially about their rights. You do of course hear some excellent arguments about the state of things but despite all the huffing and puffing and posturing these soon fizzle out and everyone becomes resigned again. It brings to mind the short time that I was encamped in the Regional Social Welfare office in Ho – all the staff would have disappeared (who knows where) and I would be the lone Yevou. A client turns up looking for a social worker – only to be told by me that they have vanished – result? Person goes outside and sleeps on the bench and waits and waits, often in vain, but without any word of complaint.

There have been more stories in the press about corruption by members of the outgoing government (NPP). The last Speaker of the House seems to have completely stripped his government residence of all soft furnishings before vacating – what a wonderful example to the people. Stories, however, that the former President built a swimming pool and installed a Jacuzzi in his house with tax payer’s money have been discredited and the NDC Minister who made the allegation has withdrawn it. One of the most depressing actions of the last government just before leaving power was to pass legislation (with NDC support) gifting cars to MPs. All these stories further discredit government in general and contribute to a general level of despair. All this in a context when Ghana is now beginning to feel the effects of the global credit crunch – inflation has now passed 20% and rising, remittances from abroad are falling and many Ghanaians working in the West are returning home having lost their jobs.

Went shopping to the Accra Mall on the edge of town – it is still fairly modest in comparison to its western counterparts but none the less an air conditioned oasis that is steadily growing and selling luxury goods for the ex pat community and the Ghanaian middle class. It is South African owned and boasts Game and Shop Rite, two large household names apparently from that neck of the woods. One welcome recent addition is a bookshop with a half decent (albeit expensive selection) of books and music. Ghana is astonishingly low on bookshops – apart from the variety – yes you have guessed it – that sells Christian motivational literature. Anyways I staggered in out of the heat – literally spewed out of a tro – with my backpack and was absolutely dripping and suddenly I felt incredibly self conscious here among the immaculately turned out clientele shopping with their “house boys”, freshly laundered – straight from SUV into the Mall. Why, my self respecting other part of me screamed or am I now ashamed of belonging to the majority world?

Going home I always enjoy too for the shopping experience. As you sit and wait for the bus to leave, people parade up and down with an astonishing variety of things for sale from miracle cures to toilet rolls to self improvement texts (all connected perhaps). I was amazed the other day to see a man selling the complete works of Shakespeare at the traffic lights – I could not help but wonder how many he sells each day (I also thought of a new project – to see what I could buy in one day whilst travelling around the city). Once the bus finally leaves it is still assailed at every stop – traffic light, jam, road toll - by people selling food, drinks, dog collars (strange but true), fake perfumes, brooms, human anatomy charts – you name it. Of course the main purchase for passengers are the plastic sachets of pure waaater and Fan Yogo (“the secret ingredient to my success” Michael Essien – national hero number one). And so another journey ends – bus stop driver – I am dropped at the end of our dirt road – home again.

Essakane nights

The road from Timbuctou starts well but after an hour just peters out – the way now is to follow what tracks you can see across the fine white shifting sands. Our drivers get lost, one car has to be dug out and we discover the desert burrs – they are sharp and prickly and get into just about everything. The journey in the end takes us about three hours and the trick seems to be to drive as fast as possible, skimming the desert and avoiding any obvious obstacles – slightly hair raising and not a little dangerous methinks but we arrive unscathed.

We had some inklings that there are problems in the region – three tourists were kidnapped up on the border with Niger a few months ago and there have been sporadic attacks by insurgents, but it still comes as a shock when we arrive at the festival site – there is a heavy military presence together with armoured cars around the perimeter. We learn later that the British Foreign Office has advised against all travel north of Timbuctou and this has certainly deterred many travellers to the festival this year.

We settle into our Tuareg tents – they are slung low, open and made from hides. A small group of men and youths have their fire just in front of our entrance – they are our “security” (or so we find out when we are packing up and they ask for cadeaux) and we are their reality television. Every slightest action of ours is closely observed and clearly fascinating to these men of the desert. Daytimes we spend wandering around – that is when we can face the intense heat – there is a marketplace – inevitably and masks galore (who makes all these?) – impromptu performances and a general festival chill. Taureg women go unveiled –unlike their men folk – and mingle freely in the crowds, dancing to the heavy desert blues pumped out through battered sound systems powered by ancient car batteries.

Late afternoons the fun begins, camel races, sword dancing, initiation rights – hard to know what is going on really – it seems that we have landed on another planet. On the first day it really hits home – having fantasised for so long about this festival – and there suddenly before our very eyes about two hundred blue men on their camels riding in – it is an awe inspiring and spine tingling moment – the hair on the back of the neck moment – they are proud, arrogant warriors, swords strapped to their sides, their camels spitting fury. They make way for no one as we learn – you have to get out of their way as quickly as possible or risk being trampled – the law of the desert.

Nighttimes are when the music really gets going. The sun sets across the endless desert and the temperature drops dramatically – everyone wraps up in whatever shawls and blankets they have and charcoal braziers burn on the dunes. On stage desert beats dominate – heavy rhythmic and hypnotic guitars, interspersed with long, effusive welcoming speeches. The festival is graced by a Moroccan princess no less (she gives out the prizes for the fastest camel, the most beautiful camel etc. on the last day) and various other dignitaries. There are also rumours that Ghadaffi will make an appearance although he does not show. Long flowery tributes are also paid to us - the “globetrotters and festivaliers” – all part of the Malian praise tradition.

The desert sky is out of this world, sparkling stars in a clear black universe, inspiring dreams and fantasies. Each night the best is saved for last – on the first night Salif Keita strides out onto the stage, for some reason wearing safari gear, his golden voice soaring into the desert night – a dream come true to see this legend on home turf – the crowd is electric, surging and singing along to every word. There is no programme and nobody seems to know who will perform – so each evening it is wait and see. We are not disappointed – Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni ba, Adel Becoum, various Tinnariwen line ups and on the final evening Habib Koite brings the festival to a joyful finale, ending with a knees up of just about everyone on stage. We stagger home frozen at two am, exhausted but both chuffed that we made it, monkey bites and all.

Ghanain visitors to our house

Our first visitors were the Board and staff of VOLPHIG. They were all curious about this house which is really different from other houses in Ghana. The main difference is the roof terrace - most houses here have corrugated tin roof so you can imagine how hot they must be. Rich people have roof tiles. Our house is usually cool. Which is great! MP even managed to get to the roof - as he is building his own house and wanted to see whether he should have a roof terrace too!

The our old neighbour Kennedy who is also a tailor visited us after church on Sunday but he did not stay long.

Mawuko, the teenager from next door came over becasue he had been given a message that we wanted to see him. Our message was "Tell Mawuko he should visit us". He was so uncomfortable that after having some paw paw he asked for permission to leave - this is a common practice here. When we visit chiefs we have to ask permission to leave.

During the Yam festival we met Mama Atrato, Queen Mother of Ho Dome. She used to work for the Police and in her role has been to Europe for peacekeeping duties. In the picture she is the one in green cloth. Her visit was interesting because we found out about her role in the community and we told her about our travels to Mali and Burkina Faso. She was very interested to hear about the museum in Bamako as she wants to improve the museum in Ho. She wants every school in Ho to make it compulsory for students to visit the museum and so she feels that the museum should be accessible to them. None of us have been to see the museum! We tried to tell her that making anything compulsory does not work but maybe it works in Ghana? Now that we have new Government there is a lot of hope that things will change in Volta Region which has always supported NDC. So Mama Atrato feels that her museum project and others like that will get a look in. Actually even Michael feels that he may be able to make better links with the new Chief Executive of Ho Municipal Assembly who are his employers. So far they really have not shown much interest in what he can do for them. So maybe Mama Atrato may have a point there. One of the first things she said to us when we showed her around the house was that we should have barbed wire all around!! We both thought hope that this is the police woman talking about safety. We do not really want to have barbed wire, takes us back to how things are in Kenya - high walls, barbed wire and Guards.

Ricky, who owns Caravansarai came over for dinner once and really enjoyed Indian food - this is such a rarity because our experience so far has been that Ghanains will not eat or even try foods from other nations. Ricky used to work in Malawi and said that on every trip there and back he stopped over in Nairobi and he always visited Handi Restaurant in Nairobi. Both of us have been there too and can vouch for its great food.

Last year, one of our postings was about our neighbourhood and we had told you about Esther who has a shop at the corner of the main street near our old house. She still keeps in touch and one day last month she visited us after church on Sunday. It was great to have her there. She had arranged the visit the day before so I made sure I had cooked for them. Unfortunately, the vegetable soup did not go down well!! She was quite frank in saying, "Us Ghanians only like Fufu and Banku with Ghanain soup and the soup has to have meat or fish!"

Sedem enjoyed plaintain chips which he had spied on one of the shelves and pineapple as afters. Felicity had bread and my home made paw paw jam which she shared with Sedem. Pineapple was the only thing that worked for all three of them.

All this while we have been thinking none of the Ghanains have invited us back - is it due to them feeling their houses are not good enough? Or is it because it is not in their culture? We don't feel it is the house issue as some of the people we have got to know are rich. Maybe it takes time so for now it is good to have people around to our house.

Surprise meeting with Diane in Segou, Mali

First of all thank you to all the friends and family who emailed me to ask about my monkey attack. I am back to normal and not bald anymore (so Michael tells me and I will believe him this time).

On our way from Bamako to Timbuktu, we were in the last car, an hour behind the rest due to my having to see a surgeon. So the driver, Amadou, was trying to make time and was going to drive past Segou to catch up with the rest. Segou is a beautiful riverside town well known for the River Niger festival that takes place in February every year.

I wanted to go to the toilet so asked him to stop for a few minutes at Segou. So he took us to a hotel in town. As I was going through the doorway into the toilet I saw Diane waiting on the other side letteing me pass through! I just could not believe my eyes and for a few moments both of us just stared at each other! We were surprised into silence.

Then "Oh my God it's you" and hugs and more hugs. Unfortunately, Diane was on her way to Bamako to catch a plane back home, so we could not spend long sharing our stories. She had been traveling overland from Morocco and had had the time of her life plus a life changing experience. Diane was not aware that I was now living in Ghana and volunteering with VSO. I am sure she must remember me talking about doing it for years.

We were both so overcome by this surprise meeting that we did not think of taking any photos!

What are the chances of meeting someone you know in Segou and being at the same place at the same time? I have known Diane for nearly 20 years and we met while working in Islington. We went our separate ways and the last few years we always caught up with each other at WOMAD. We would exchange telephone numbers and agree to keep in touch but somehow we never managed it until the next WOMAD.

Something tells me Diane that all these chance meetings must mean we are meant to keep in touch. So let us start again via our emails.

Monkey Monkey!!!

Our trip to Burkina Faso and Mali was unfortunately overshadowed by my being attacked by a pet monkey. That is why it will be the first entry about our trip! I am sure in time I will be able to laugh about it but at the moment it is definitely not funny.

On our second day in Burkina, we visited a music club, called Les Bamboos, in Bobo. Michael was very excited about seeing Farafina live that evening and he was trying to enthuse the Swedish couple, Karin and Patrick, about this group. It was also New Year’s Eve. I decided to go to the toilet while he was engrossed in this discussion.

One of the club workers showed me where it was – and the first thing that surprised me was that there was a long stick being waved above the toilet which did not have a roof. After a few minutes I realised why because a monkey showed up and the stick kept it away from the toilet. The monkey was in attack mode with mouth wide open. I hurried up and as I was washing my hands, the monkey jumped on my head and I felt what could have been a bite or a scratch. I screamed my head off a rushed out. The stick obviously did not work and maybe I was too good a target to miss. I am not sure when the monkey disappeared but the man waving the stick must have been able to get rid of him.

The amount of blood that was pouring out of my head was unbelievable, it was everywhere. I started shouting for Michael who could not hear me. Patrick noticed me bent over and shouting for Michael who rushed over. He panicked when he saw all the blood. He called Karin and Patrick over who were most helpful as Patrick in a soldier and had a first aid kit on him. They both helped Michael clean the wound and bandage it.

We ended up in the local hospital and that was quite a shock because the hygiene was poor and people were lying on the floor to be treated. The doctor on duty found a wheelchair for me to sit on while Michael had to stand. He was able to supervise that clean equipment was used. I had 5 stitches under local anaesthetic and more blood when he injected the anaesthetic. I now had a bold patch around the wound. He did not bother to clean the blood off the rest of my head! What was shocking was that he asked for a present after we had paid about £20.00 officially and after some argument Michael paid him £5.00.

I wanted to have the rest of my hair cut straight away while the anaesthetic was working. Two hairdressers said no and we were driven to a hairdresser who cut “Le Blanche” hair. He did not even think twice about cutting hair that had so much blood on it – and of course the whole incident became the topic of conversation. One woman said you are lucky, it could have been your face. That did not bear thinking about!! We bought antibiotics and hoped for the best.

That evening we visited “Les Bamboos” to talk to the French owner Bernard. One of the young men who sells trinkets outside the club showed more sympathy than Bernard. We visited the next day and found out from the trinket seller that another customer had been attacked half an hour before me and Bernard was with her in a private clinic when I was attacked. Bernard had kept this information from us and failed to tie up his monkey after the first attack.

We travelled to Bamako two days after the attack with a view to have the wound seen again. We did finally get to a private clinic and the doctor on call took one stitch out without local anaesthetic as the wound was infected. More screaming from me!! He changed my antibiotics and gave me something stronger. The next day another young doctor took two stitches out and asked me to return to see his boss Mr Traore, the trauma specialist. Mr Traore said he would need to clean the wound and remove the rest of the stitches and luckily this time it was going to be under local anaesthetic and Michael was able to watch him do the procedure. He changed my antibiotics yet again!! Gave me stronger ones which he said would do the trick and get rid of any residual infection.

The disappointing news from Mr Traore was that I needed to be seen by him everyday and that he did not recommend my travelling to the Desert Festival. We were going to start travelling there the next day. Michael wanted to go with his advice and return home to England and my attitude (maybe a foolish one) was to find a way for us to go. The day of the journey to Timbuktu, my question to Mr Traore was how is he going to make it possible for me to travel. I had waited until he had said the wound was much better and that there was very little infection. He agreed to show Michael how to clean the wound and Michael was very brave to take on the task – I would have it any differently! So we were finally on our way to Timbuktu. Of course with new headgear! I did not know that the rasta hat I had bought in Thailand would come in so handy.

At the Desert Festival, a Polish doctor, Liina and a nurse, Jaana, cleaned the wound in a car to keep the sand away! They also supervised a local doctor, Dr. Sangare, in Timbuktu clean it. Dr. Sangare came to see me at the hotel wearing a trench coat and my first question was I don’t want any treatment until I have had a chance to tell you what my problem is and you tell me what you will do. Out came his container of his tools from his pocket – that worried me even more – how hygienic is this doing to be? Language was a problem because he did not speak English but as every other time I decided to put my faith in him and it turned out to be okay.

Since then Michael cleaned the wound until we returned to Ghana and saw a VSO doctor in Bolgatanga. He said that within a week the wound would be okay and that head wounds usually heal in a couple of weeks – well mine was taking longer.- the attack happened 4 weeks ago!

I have now taken to wearing a turban and people tell me the new look suits me – so maybe this look is here to stay for some time. I still have a bald patch as the wound has not closed over!

Sorry about going on about this but had to get it off my chest to be able to move on and tell you about the more positive stories about our trip.